


Sometimes a Fantasy

by Drachenfee



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Consensual, F/M, Goldgraves, PWP, Prompt Fic, Smut, also much longer than anticipated, this ended up more fluffy and less smutty than i intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9874313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drachenfee/pseuds/Drachenfee
Summary: Percival Graves can't get Tina Goldstein out of his head. If not fantasizing about her is difficult when she's wearing a pantsuit at the office... it's damn near impossible when she's posing as a burlesque singer.Prompt: Graves fantasizes about Tina, then acts on it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (late) birthday fic for goldgravesship on tumblr. Happy Birthday. I hope you enjoy it, not sure if this was in any way what you were thinking off. 
> 
> The usual: feel free to point out spelling/grammar mistakes, English is my second language and I'm always glad to edit out any embarrassing mistakes. Comments/kudos are appreciated :)
> 
> Title inspired by the song of the same name by Billy Joel. If you want to have an idea of what Tina is wearing there is a link to a picture in the end notes.

Goldstein was not his type. She was just a little too plain, a little too insecure, a little too unfashionable. Her sister, glorious Queenie Goldstein, with her blond locks, fancy dresses and impish manners should have made his heart race, and his cock throb. But she didn’t. Neither did Seraphina’s cold beauty. More disturbingly, her power while still commanding his respect and obedience as her Director of Magical Security, no longer held any sway over his passions.

Percival Graves had a type – sleek, fashionable, flirty, a little forward, a smidgeon of defiance, powerful, driven, stunningly beautiful – and Goldstein wasn’t it. It was incomprehensible to him therefore, that she was in his thoughts constantly. Her wavy dark hair curling around the shell of her ear, her long slender neck leading to the demurely buttoned-up blouse, the expanse of soft pale skin that blouse hid from him... he couldn’t get her out of his head.

It was difficult enough to keep his distance in the unromantic environment of the MACUSA’s Auror Office. He’d sit at his desk, and through the open door, he’d see her bend over as she picked up a pen she’d dropped, and find himself staring unseeingly at her ass, wishing he could bend her over his desk. He’d walk the halls of the building, talking about a case with her following along, occasionally stumbling or running into someone – something that naturally didn’t happen to him – and wish the reason she missed a step was because he’d kept her up all night moaning his name... or if he couldn’t have that, at least wished she would stumble into _him_ , so he could have a valid reason to press the length of her body against his.

He groaned, as he took another sip of his illegal no-maj bourbon. It was hard – haha – to keep her out of his mind at the office, it was fucking impossible here... sitting in a softly lit, expensive wizarding speakeasy as backup for one of his aurors who had been working himself into the trust of a smuggling operation for months, watching as Goldstein – the second backup his own procedures demanded – gently swayed her hips while she crooned seductively on stage.

His dark eyes slowly slid over the extravagant... What would one even call that? Was it a dress? Or a robe? It defied the purpose of hiding anything by being transparent, it certainly didn’t protect her from the elements. It was decoration rather than clothing, and it had Percival transfixed.

She had curled her hair properly for this mission. Her lips were painted fiercely red. He wanted to kiss those sweet lips, wanted to suck the color right off them... or to watch as it left smudges around the length of his cock. He was growing hard just thinking about it. He groaned again, managing to banish the mental image of Goldstein on her knees in front of him long enough to make a quick scan of the room. Thompson was still talking to the smugglers, drinking with them. He didn’t see anything suspicious from his vantage point. His eyes went straight back to Goldstein.

Percival’s gaze fixed on the plunging neckline of the dress. There was a ribbon of glittering dark brown embroidery along the neckline; it contrasted deliciously with the soft white skin of her cleavage, the v-shape left her uncovered almost all the way to her bellybutton. He imagined laying her down on the bed in his apartment, leaning over her, caging her in with his arms and legs... and slowly, torturously kissing his way down her chest. Imagined drawing the fabric further apart, working his way down her stomach, feeling the flutter of movement against his lips as her abdominal muscles tightened in arousal.

A movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn his head slightly for another quick survey of the room. Still nothing suspicious going on. He focused on Goldstein again, unconsciously licked his lips as he watched the soft rise and fall of her breasts as she sang. How he wanted to draw her nipples into his mouth, watch her writhe below him as he sucked on them, hear her little gasps and moans as he bit down and pulled. They were hidden by the embroidery on the damn dress, but the shape and size of her tits was perfectly visible, and they were delectable.

His gaze shifted lower, roamed over her waist and hips, skin covered only in the transparent golden glow of the gown. She wasn’t wearing panties, stockings or garters. The gown didn’t really call for that. The only thing that was obscuring her lower lips from his hungry eyes was the embroidery running all the way from the neckline of the dress down to her feet. He wanted to rip the thing right of her, wanted to plunge into her quivering little cunt until he couldn’t see or think straight, wanted to feel her thighs wrapped around his waist, feel her high heels dig into his ass and scratch along his legs as he drove her over the edge.

He was rock hard by now, and panting just a little, and... Goldstein wasn’t even his type.

And he really should _not_ have been focused so damn exclusively on her. Or so he told himself after the smoke had cleared, and the smugglers had been rounded up and detained, and he’d returned to the safety of his empty office. While he was taking off his jacket and waistcoat and tie, and finally his shirt and the wife beater underneath – his coat was long gone, wrapped securely around Goldstein, because it was the decent thing to do... and because Percival was a jealous bastard and didn’t like the idea of anybody else seeing Goldstein dressed like that. _Or rather undressed like that_ , he corrected himself.  

He sighed, as he surveyed the damage to his back in the feint and slightly distorted mirror image of the glass cabinet in his office. Several deep gashes ran over his back starting at his right shoulder blade and ending just above his left buttock. Most of them were covered in congealed blood by now, and only in a few places was blood still oozing out of them. A slicing hex to the back was a mild punishment for being unaccountably, inappropriately distracted by his subordinate in a burlesque dress. By all rights he should be dead. _Distracted Aurors are Dead Aurors!_ As he liked to tell the rookies.

There was a knock on the door. Thompson, to report on progress in interrogations, or Seraphina probably here to ask him if he’d lost his fucking mind. The former would hardly care if he saw Percival half-naked, if the latter was distracted in her own right by the sight of her Head Auror so much the better. He flicked his hand towards the door to open it, and summoned healing salves, dittany and bandages while keeping his back to the door.

“Mr. Graves, Sir? I was wondering, if—“

Whatever Goldstein had intended to say was interrupted by a sharp gasp.

“You’re hurt, Sir?”

He turned his head slightly and bit back a groan. She was still wearing that damn transparent robe under his coat, which was kept in place by a single button. Goldstein’s eye brows were drawn together in a worried frown.

“Just a couple of scratches, Goldstein,” he muttered dismissively, in an endeavor to set her mind at ease and kick her out of his office as quickly as possible... before he embarrassed himself in front of her. “I’ll take care of them now.”

There was a moment of silence. “How, exactly, are you going to do that?” she asked, incredulously.

He rolled his eyes about to retort, when he felt a warm hand on his back, next to one of the deep gashes. The sensation of her fingers gently tracing alongside the wound, stole his breath and shut down his ability to speak.

“We need to clean them up first, Sir,” she told him matter-of-factly, “They’re covered in dust.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

She drew her wand and conjured a pitcher of water and a bowl, then summoned a vial of wound cleaning solution from the desk drawer were he kept all of his medical supplies. A moment later the fragrant herbal smell of the solution filled the office, as she carefully poured some of it into the bowl and mixed it with warm water.

Maybe that was what drew him to her, he thought, maybe it was the quiet grace in her movements when she was out of her head, when she was just _doing_ instead of _overthinking_ , when she allowed herself to _be_ without the fear of reprimands.

Then Goldstein’s hand was back on his skin and her other hand was very gently running a piece of wet cloth over his cuts, and he was suddenly busy controlling his breathing and his heart beat... and his damn cock, already beginning to strain against his trousers. Her motions as she cleaned up the wounds and started treating them were practiced and precise, causing him a minimum of pain. When he couldn’t quite stifle a groan after her hand had slipped along his side in an unintended caress, she became even more careful.

Percival kept his eyes closed, trying to use his occlumency to shut out her touch, and the desire burning wildly through his veins. Hazy thoughts of turning around and grabbing her, ravaging her mouth, yanking off that damn coat and doing all the things he’d fantasized about at the speakeasy slipped through anyway. His only success was that he _didn’t_ turn around, kept his back to her, and while his trousers were a little tight in certain places, it wouldn’t be too noticeable in the dim light of his office.

Finally, Goldstein took a step back to look at her handiwork. “I don’t think you’ll need the bandages,” she said, again taking out her wand to cast a simple diagnostic spell. “Looks like there’s no spell residue, and the cuts are properly closed.”

He was doing so well, and he was so relieved to know that the torture was finally over. It was the only reason why he would make such a stupid mistake. He turned around... just as she raised her hand to run it one more time along the lines on his back. Her hand came to rest on his chest instead, her eyes widening with shock, her perfect little mouth forming a silent ‘o’ of surprise.

_Fuck it!_

Percival leaned in, grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against him, as he pressed his lips to hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise, and using it to gain entrance to her mouth. For a moment her body was stiff and unyielding, then she melted against his chest and he heard a low moan from the back of her throat. His tongue slid sensuously against hers, belying the urgency of his desire, as he slid one hand over her side and back and the other into her hair. He went from semi-erect to rock-hard within seconds, grinding his groin against her, as he used her hair to angle her head just so.

Goldstein’s hands had been splayed against his chest for the first several moments of their kiss. When he felt them begin to wander over his torso and along his sides to his back to draw him in closer, he moaned. Percival turned them around, and pushed her against the desk, lifting her a little so he could place her on top of the polished wood. He felt her legs wrap around his hips drawing him closer, and finally pulled back. Panting, he rested his forehead against her shoulder for a moment, breathing in Goldstein’s perfume. _Goldstein_.

He jerked back, putting a little space between them. “Goldstein,” his voice was rough.

“S-Sir,” she stuttered, still panting herself.

“Listen,” he muttered, leaning closer against his better judgement, “Listen... if you...” he took a shuddering breath, trying to think clearly and be Director Graves for a moment. “If you don’t want this, you need to tell me.” He saw the confusion on her face, and winced. “Now,” he added. “Because if you don’t, I’ll not be able to... I won’t be responsible for...” he shut his eyes, fighting the torrent of need. “I want you,” he finally moaned, brushing his lips against the silky skin of her neck.

She whimpered, arms and legs pulling him closer, “I want this,” she whispered into his ear, “I want you, Sir.”

“Tina,” he groaned against her skin, already moving his head to once again catch her lips in a deep kiss.

He sighed into her mouth when he felt her hands slide over his chest and arms, one of them finally coming to rest in the short hair at the back of his head, softly threading her fingers through it, massaging and lightly scratching his scalp. He was holding her against him with his left hand, while his right hand was wandering between them, to the button – the one damned button – that was keeping his coat in place. He popped it open quickly, and pushed the coat over her shoulders, detaching her from their embrace to pull it down her arms.

When it was pooled around her on the table, he leaned back and took in the sight of Tina Goldstein in the transparent golden robe. She flushed bright red, lowered her eyes, and moved her arms as if to cover herself.

“Don’t,” he murmured huskily, catching her wrists and gently moving her hands back to the edge of the table. “Don’t hide yourself from me, Tina.” He gently grasped her chin and lifted her head, “Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

He gently ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, as he smiled down at her. “You’re beautiful... especially in this robe that you’re so embarrassed about.” He stepped closer, allowing his hand to drift down to her ass and pulled her against him without warning. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me, Tina,” he growled into her ear, scraping his teeth over the sensitive spot behind it, before soothing it with his tongue. He heard a soft whimper, and leaned back again, looking at her.

She was still flushed, but her embarrassment had given way to a cautious acceptance of his gaze.

He began kissing a path along her jawline to her lips, giving her a brief peck before moving lower, over her chin and the pale smooth length of her neck. He gently took her hands and guided them back to his chest, encouraging her to explore his skin, while he licked and sucked and bit at her – marking her.

 _Mine_. The possessive thought rushed through his mind, as he slowly ran one hand over the embroidered edges of her gown. Following the swirling spirals outward, and running his hand over her breast. She gasped and threw her head back, pressing herself into his caress.

“P-Percival,” she moaned, so softly he barely heard her.

He dipped his tongue into the hollow at her throat. “Yes, honey?” he smirked when he saw the surprise on her face at the endearment. He brushed his lips against hers in a slow delicious kiss, while his fingers found her peaked nipple and pinched lightly. “Say that again,” he whispered into her lips as she gasped. “Say my name, Tina.”

“Percival,” her voice was breathless.

He lowered his head, replacing his fingers with his lips, sucking her nipple into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. Her fingers wound back into his hair, her legs tightened around his waist and she arched herself into his touch. He groaned as she ground herself into his throbbing erection.

With a renewed sense of urgency, he started searching for a way to open up the robe, running his fingers over the elaborately stitched embroidery. After a moment Tina caught on to what he was doing.

“No clasps,” she murmured, reaching up, to pull the material up a little, widening the ample neckline so she could slide the robe down over her shoulders.

“Let me,” he said, as he gently replaced her hands with his own. He slowly slid the fabric down her arms, and watched as goose-bumps followed in the wake of his fingertips. As he revealed her upper body to his hungry gaze, her hands slid gently down his chest, and trailed teasingly over his abdominal muscles. While he studied her small, round breasts and dusky pink nipples intently, she lightly ran a fingernail down the dark line of hair, until she met the waistband of his slacks. The sensation sent a jolt of desire straight into his balls.

He groaned and latched on to one of her nipples; kissing, sucking and biting at the little peak until she was a writhing, mewling mess on the table in front of him.

“P-Percival, please,” she gasped, as she squirmed against him. She was clumsily trying to get his belt and slacks open.

Letting go of her nipple, he chuckled and joined her hands in freeing him from his confines. Tina smiled coyly at him, as she curled her fingers around his length, stroking smoothly from the base to the head of his cock. Percival hissed. Her firm touch felt amazing, but he knew he had to stop her soon, or this would end rather differently than he had hoped. He snatched her wrist and pulled her hand off his cock, before he lifted her a little, and pulled the flimsy robe down her legs impatiently. He held her close one arm wrapped around her back, while the fingers of his other hand stroked over her stomach and down past the dark patch of hair and into her wet folds. He gently parted them, stroking through them, basking in the slick wetness he found there. He leaned in and kissed her, stroking her tongue with his, as she moaned and arched into his touch.

“You’re so wet, honey,” he said huskily, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “So wet and hot...” he deliberately grazed two of his fingers around her entrance, and smirked, as she shuddered in his arms, and cried out and whimpered.  “So tight,” he pushed one finger into her, finding no resistance he added another, quickly picking up the pace, as his thumb brushed against the hood of her clit.

“Fuck, Percival,” Tina panted, “please... more.”

He bit back a moan of arousal as he watched her buck shamelessly against his hand. He added a third finger drawing a throaty moan from her lips, and sped up his movements. “Come for me, Tina,” he growled against her neck, biting her hard enough to leave a bruise. “Come, now.”

He watched entranced, as her back arched, her head fell back; relished the sounds of her breathless, incoherent little cries and groans as her tight muscles started squeezing around his fingers, and his hand was suddenly slick with her arousal. He kept fucking her with his fingers until he felt her collapse against him, when he gently withdrew his hand. He waited for her to come down from her high, caressing her inner thigh and stroking her back soothingly until she pulled back slightly and stared up at him, dazed.

“That...,” she panted, face flushed with pleasure, “was amazing.”

Percival allowed himself a smug smile. “Was it now?” he drawled, as he wrapped a hand around her thigh and hooked it over his hip. He reached between them, lining himself up with her entrance, but stopped short of pushing into her. Instead, he gently brushed his lips against hers in a short, sweet kiss. “Sure about doing this, Goldstein?” his voice was low and intimate, as he watched her eyes closely, searching for a flicker of uncertainty or fear.

Tina nodded quickly, her dark curls bouncing around her ears. “Yes,” she blurted out impatiently, as she tried to use her legs to tug him closer.

He resisted, raising an imperious eyebrow, as he slid one hand to her abdomen to cast a non-verbal contraceptive charm.

She promptly rolled her eyes at him. “I’m an auror, you impossible man! I’m on the potion!” she explained with an indignant huff.

“Of course you are,” he muttered, brushing aside his embarrassment over not having thought of that. “Well, better safe than sorry.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he grabbed her hips and slowly entered her. He was vaguely aware of her breath on his cheek as she sighed softly, and the way her thighs trembled around him as her legs drew him ever closer; but his focus was on the sensation of sinking into the hot, wet tightness of her cunt, and the way her inner muscles were quivering around him. He moaned low in his throat as he bottomed out and rested his head against her shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled against her skin.

“Am not,” she muttered mulishly. “You’re just big.”

He raised his head, looking into her dark eyes, “One day, Tina, I’m gonna decide I’ve had enough of your contentiousness.”

“But not today,” she asked, bucking her hips against his, making him groan.

Taking the hint, he started moving his hips, using long strokes and setting a slow teasing rhythm. “Not today,” he agreed, lowering his lips to meet hers in a searing kiss.

For several long moments, Percival lost himself in the feeling of her inner walls clenching and stroking around his cock; enjoying the contrast of the cool air of his office and her wet heat, as their tongues slid against each other and dueled for dominance. The need for oxygen drove them apart in the end.

“Percival?”

“Yes?”

“Harder... please,” Tina begged.

He felt her hips move insistently against him, and obligingly picked up the pace. The otherwise silent office was filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, their moans and gasps mingling with the creak of his desk beneath her. Percival felt one of Tina’s hands slide between them, and changed the angle of her hips so she could more easily reach her clit.

“That’s it, honey,” he rasped against her throat, spurring her on. “Touch yourself. Come for me.”

Feeling the pressure building in his balls, Percival leaned down and sucked hard on one of her nipples. She gasped and writhed beneath him, her body tensing, fingernails biting into his shoulder blade, before she began to convulse around his throbbing cock. He buried his head against the crook of Tina’s neck, and allowed himself to let go of his restraint. His thrusts became irregular, as his balls tightened and he felt the shock of pleasure as he came. He stiffened in her arms spilling his seed inside her, as the last spasms of her muscles caressed his length, allowing himself to bask in the sudden mindless ecstasy of his release.

Percival slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head, when he felt sluggish movements against him. Tina was sweaty, strands of her dark hair were sticking to her forehead. Her neck was covered in several dark marks, where he’d been a little overenthusiastic with his teeth and lips. He knew he probably didn’t look any better himself. Her eyes fluttered open and met his. He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips, still out of breath.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice more gravelly than usual.

She blinked, apparently sorting out her feelings, “Yeah.”

“Good.” He smiled at her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear for her.

She smiled back hesitantly. Then she looked down at the transparent golden robe on the floor, and the smile faded. Biting her lower lip, she looked back at him, “Um... this happened because of the mission... the way I was dressed?”  

Percival felt his respect for her grow. Her voice was carefully void of emotions. Her facial expression, while no longer smiling, was calm and unconcerned. He knew Goldstein often had trouble with hiding her feelings and thoughts. He hadn’t expected her to be able to do so in this situation.

He was at a loss, his mind racing over the various ways to answer her question and the consequences of each. It had been his fault, he knew. He’d been the one to act, and if he hadn’t nothing would have happened.

_Fuck it!_

“Yes,” he said deliberately, feeling proud of her when the only giveaway of her hurt feelings was a fleeting flash of pain in her eyes, “I... reacted to you because of that... robe... dress. But, Goldstein...” he paused, not entirely sure how to say what he needed to say.

In the end, he leaned down and kissed her instead. Long, slow, deliberate.

“I’ve been having trouble getting you out of my head for weeks, Goldstein,” he finally admitted, when they parted for air.

“Really?” she whispered, and while she’d hidden her pain quite well, there was no missing the way her eyes lit up with hope.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “Have dinner with me?” It wasn’t the most polite way to ask, he knew. Thankfully, Goldstein knew him well enough to nod her assent instead of complaining.

The end

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspiration for Tina's burlesque robe (Warning: partial nudity? the thing, as described is transparent for the most part)](http://www.bookofburlesque.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/1920s-glamour.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and I made Tina a singer, because I don't think she'd have been able to pull off dancer at a moments notice...


End file.
